


indefatigable

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14442477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: “Barnum sick?”Phillip frowned, watching the man continue to orchestrate positioning along the stage. “God, I hope not.”spoiler alert: he is.





	indefatigable

“No, no, I’m going to need you–” Barnum gripped Den Yang’s arms, guiding them a step further to the left. “We want your bladework directly in front of the crowd, but if you’d happen to miss–”

“I do not miss.”

_“_ I know _,_ but if you do, we can’t risk any of the perfor– ah–” A rare pause, and then he spun around, whisking a handkerchief from the sleeve of his shirt to sneeze into.

“Gesundheit.”

He sniffled, stashing it away again. “Yes, thank you, W.D. Speaking of, you and your sister–”

“Barnum sick?” Charles asked.

Phillip frowned, watching the man continue to orchestrate positioning along the stage. “God, I hope not.”

“He’s always here when I get here and he’s always here when I leave.” Charles shrugged, picking up his hat. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t surprise me. Never sits still.”

That was the problem. “Yeah, well. He should know his own limits.”

“Are you talking about Barnum?” Constantine asked. “You _can’t_ be talking about Barnum.”

Phillip sighed. “Alright, alright, you two’d better get out there before he comes over here. Where’s the Lord of Leeds?”

“Lookin’ for his padding, probably.” Charles rolled his eyes. “Come on, Ink Man, give me a lift.”

Phillip watched them go, eyes narrowing as their ringmaster sneezed into the crook of his arm this time.

 

 

_“Please_ tell me that you’re not sick.”

When Barnum had shown up to work with the same nasal issues and vaguely red eyes, Phillip felt _obligated_ to ask. He needed to know ahead of time to refresh on the steps of ringmaster versus background component; his part was minimal at best in the usual show, but he didn’t mind stepping into Barnum’s place. It was nerve-wracking, but then, P.T. probably thought that, too. Or maybe not. Barnum was in a class of his own on that thing.

“No,” he replied, eyebrows furrowing as he squinted at Phillip. “What gave you that idea?”

“I think you’ve sneezed on everyone here at least once, you’ve left sopping handkerchiefs all over this place,” he ticked each offense off on his fingers, “your eyes are red, you look like hell.”

“Oh.” Barnum waved his hand, finishing off their halfhearted meal. “Something in the air, I think. A minor inconvenience.” He grabbed his coffee and drank the rest of it. “Nothing to worry about, Phillip,” he said, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to take the reins anytime soon.” With that, he was already heading back to continue their work on the set.

“If you say so,” he mumbled, staring into his stew. He didn’t believe it in the slightest, really. But he’d let Barnum _think_ he did–

“You know he’s lying to you.”

He glanced up.

Lettie gestured towards the ring.

“Oh?” he asked idly.

“It’s wintertime, Phillip,” she said gently. “What’s in the air?”

“… Smoke?” A weak rebuttal, because he really, _really_ didn’t want to know what Barnum was like when he was sick.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled slightly nonetheless. “And it hasn’t bothered him before now, has it?”

“… he needs to go home,” he muttered.

“As if there's any chance of that. ”

Phillip huffed, stabbing moodily at one of the stewed potatoes.

 

 

He hooked two fingers into the handle of Barnum’s mug, plucking it from the tabletop and bringing it up to sniff.

“Phillip.”

“Lemon and honey and alcoh– you _are_ sick!” he exclaimed. “Go home, Barnum, stop drowning yourself in hot toddies and go _sleep.”_

“I am _not_ sick.” Barnum reached up, taking the mug back. “Just a little under the weather.”

“That’s the _definition_ of ‘being sick’.” He sighed, dropping into the chair opposite him. “I _can_ manage the show for a day or two. It’s what you trained me for, right? Let me do it.”

“No.” He rustled the newspaper and took another drink of his little cold remedy.

“Barnum–”

“Phillip.”

“What will it take to convince you to go home?”

“I’ll go home after everything is finished today.”

A new tactic, then. “… does your wife know?”

The rustling stopped. Barnum looked up from the paper and eyed the younger. “There’s nothing for her to know.”

“I thought you told your wife everything.”

“There’s nothing to _tell.”_

Phillip tried not to smile– unsuccessfully, mostly, he thought. “Take a day off soon, Barnum. She won’t let you out of the house if you get too sick.”

“That’s unlikely,” Barnum murmured, but his expression was pinched as he went back to the news.

 

 

“He’s asleep.”

“I didn’t know he slept.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he sleeps. … although I’ve never seen him sleep _here…_ ”

Phillip paused on his way through, doubling back at the small crowd gathered backstage. “Guys, hey.” He paused when he realized they were staring at _Barnum,_ sprawled out in the chair. Feet propped on a crate, coat draped over him, hat resting low over his eyes. Phillip blinked rapidly, as if he _wasn’t_ seeing what he was, and then sighed. “Come on, guys, show’s over.”

“The show hasn’t even begun, because, well.” A gesture at the sleeping man.

“I’ll… I’ll be there, in a few minutes, alright? Just go get ready.” Mumbled agreement, and Phillip smiled faintly as he moved forward. “Thank you, Jeff. Chang, Eng, come on now. Anne,” he murmured, ducking his head. “I’ll be with you shortly, if I can pry him away from command.” _When_ , he thought, because there was no way Barnum would work like _this._ Probably.

“Barnum.” He touched a hand to the man’s shoulder. “Hey. P.T.” He squeezed, shaking him gently. If he had fallen asleep here, then he really had to be miserable, admit it or not. “Hey. Wake up, rise and shine.” He lifted his hat from his face and dropped it into his lap instead. “Barnum. Show’s about to start.”

It was a joke, but almost predictably, Barnum awoke with a start, feet sliding off the crate and back ramrod straight.

… alright, Phillip felt bad for that one. “Kidding, kidding. Rehearsal, remember?”

“… ah.” The man’s shoulders slumped, if only just. “Time to go on?”

“Time to go _home,”_ Phillip said, and tried to sound firm. He only owned ten percent of the circus, not near enough to be making the orders and bossing his _boss._ But this had gotten out of hand. “Let me handle rehearsal today–”

“No, I’m–”

He squeezed his shoulder tighter, preventing him from standing. “– and you can go home, get some sleep, and be back in plenty of time for the actual show in. We’re not public for two weeks.”

“Really, you’re being unreasona–” Barnum twisted to cough into his hand.

God, if he looked bad, he sounded worse and Phillip’s hand slipped down to soothe circles onto his back when he _kept_ coughing. “Come on, Barnum, you’re not gonna go out there and perform like that. Go home and rest.”

The elder man broke face enough to groan, very quietly, when he could breathe for not coughing. “I s’pose you’re right.”

Success rarely sounded so… _un_ satisfying. It was too _weird_ to see Barnum like this. How was he _not_ supposed to be worried? “Good. And call on a physician about that cough.”

“Yes…” Barnum hauled himself upright, tucking his hat under his arm. “I’ll be fine tomorrow, I’m sure.”

“Do _not_ come back tomorrow.”

“I just need a drink and bedrest.”

“You’re not going to drink bourbon and expect to come back tomorrow,” Phillip retorted. “Don’t be stubborn. Or stupid.”

Barnum managed to look both amused and dismal simultaneously, clumsily patting Phillip on the shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Just go _home,_ Barnum.”

He sniffled heartily and waved as he slouched for the exit.

 

 

“Why is he _here?!”_

“Because he’s a stubborn fool?”

“Barnum!” Phillip yanked the walking stick off the ground, marching across the ring. “I told you to stay home! For god’s sake.” He slid on the sawdust as he came to a stop next to him, steadying both of them with a hand under his elbow. “You look like death. Hey. Hey!” He gestured over one of the albino twins. “Finish that up, I’m putting him in a cab, go with him and make sure he gets home–”

“No,” Barnum interrupted.

“Listen, that’s it, I’m putting my foot down, you go home or _none_ of us works today. You–” He stopped. Frowned. Held his hand aloft over Barnum’s neck, and then curved it around the man’s forehead. “Jesus _Christ_ , Barnum, you’re on fire. Scratch that, I’m taking you to a physician myself.”

“No, you’re not–”

“Then I’m sending a telegram to your _wife,”_ he hissed, panic swelling in waves as the man slumped his weight against him. “Barnum. Hey!”

“I'll just supervise, if it means that much to you,” Barnum mumbled. “Show must go on.”

“Not today– _hey!”_ Barnum collapsed against his side; Phillip scrambled to get his arms under his even as his own knees buckled from the weight. “Barnum! _P.T.!_ Jesus, call for the doctor,” he ordered, folding down to his knees with him. “Barnum.” His skin really was on fire. Phillip set to trying to untie his scarf even as he held him, one armed, against his chest. “Barnum, come on, man.” The top button on his shirt, and his hands were shaking. Ah, hell. “This isn't what I signed up for… Somebody go fetch some ice,” he ordered, and they scrambled off, nearly falling over each other in their haste. At least he wasn't the only one worried, he thought, and rest his hand back on the ringmaster’s forehead.

 

 

“Phillip?”

“Charity.” He scrubbed his palms against his pants and stood up. “How is he?”

“They've gotten a fever reducer into him.” She sat down. She looked _tired,_ which he didn't blame, but also a little… _less_ concerned than Phillip had expected. Huh. “It seems to be helping. They'll give him something for the cough when he's more awake, but they want to get the infection out of his body first.”

He nodded, resuming his seat. He wasn't good at being forward with people he wasn't overly familiar with; it felt an awkward motion to offer his hand but Charity took it immediately.

“They say he's likely contracted influenza, from somewhere.” Phillip stiffened. “Likely all those late nights in the cold,” she muttered.

“I– but he'll be alright, right?”

She smiled wearily. “He's fought it before, and he was hospitalized sooner this time.”

_“Before?”_ Phillip repeated incredulously. “You're kidding.”

“He was deathly ill after we were first married.” A rueful look. “My father wasn't at all pleased at the prospect of my new husband leaving me a widow so quickly.”

_“That_ was his concern? Ah, I mean, well–”

Charity squeezed his hand. “I’d like to say he’s fond of Phineas, somewhere deep down. But to the point at hand, yes, it was… rough, but we managed. He managed. He pulled through. He’ll do it again.”

_That_ was why Charity didn’t look so shocked, wasn’t it? She was _used_ to Barnum doing stupid things and hurting himself for it. The worry was still there, but not the surprise. Phillip closed his eyes. He was going to have permanent frown lines after this. If not that, an ulcer. _God,_ this wasn’t even show-induced stress. No financials, no acts, just… Barnum. The hand that wasn’t gone clammy in Charity’s he used to scrub against his eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry, I should have made him sit out sooner–”

“‘Sit out?’” she repeated, eyebrows flying up. “Phillip, I couldn’t even get my husband to sit _down_ this morning, let alone you trying to talk him into sitting out of his own show.” She laughed once, humorlessly. “If he hadn’t passed out, I doubt you would have gotten him here to begin with. He is _far_ too stubborn for his own good. I’m just thankful he has someone like you looking after him.”

“I… uh–” He cleared his throat. “Not doing a great job.”

“We’re doing the best we can,” Charity said. “That’s what he’d say, anyway.”

“Yeah… ha. Wouldn’t he?” He sighed, and pretended he didn’t notice when Charity did as well.

 

 

“Phillip.”

“… hm.” A moment of silence, and _realization._ Phillip sat up so quickly the chair creaked. “Barnum.

He was awake, looking more aware than he’d seen him the past few days. Sweat beading along his hairline, eyes still glassy with fever, but _alert._ Unsurprisingly Barnum, and the best sight Phillip had seen all day.

“Glad to see you’re back amongst the living.” He straightened up, clasping his hands in his lap. “Let me wake your wife–”

“No,” Barnum interrupted. “Let her sleep.”

“You’re sure?”

Barnum nodded, slowly working himself up into a sitting position.

“Hey, Barnum– come on, now.” Phillip leaned over, shuffling the pillows up so he could recline back on them. “Can’t you sit still for five minutes?”

“I’ve _been_ sitting still.” Barnum sighed, rubbing a hand against his chest. “How long has it been?”

“You’ve been in and out of lucidity for about two and a half days now.” Leaning forward, Phillip rest his elbows on his knees. A pose his mother would have swatted him for, but… two and half days in hospital, and the worry before that. Hearing Barnum hold a conversation was actually a blessing, and now Phillip couldn’t help but sag under the relief of it.

“Let me guess… you haven’t been working the show.”

“I’ve been here. You’re welcome,” he added, and then shrugged, very slightly. “No one can work anyway, Barnum, we’re all worried about you. Hell, half of ‘em have been outside the past two days.”

“Ah. That's kind.”

“I’m happy to step into your shoes while you recover, just… you know. Couldn’t leave you like that, not knowing,” he said quietly.

“Was there ever any doubt?” The smile was a ghost of its usual, but nonetheless reassuring.

“I’d like to not jinx anything,” Phillip retorted, and then he groaned and leaned forward to put his face in his hands. “Just don’t do that again.”

“Try not to.”

Barnum coughed into his arm and Phillip was fumbling through his own pockets for a handkerchief when Charity stirred in the room behind them; they both froze, Barnum’s expression going tight. He didn’t look like he was even breathing. It probably wasn’t even an exaggeration, holding his breath so he wouldn’t keep coughing and disturb his wife.

She didn’t wake up, and Barnum breathed out in a rush. _“Let her sleep,”_ he mouthed, again, and Phillip sank back in the chair.

“You just know she’s going to lay into you and you’re afraid of the lecture,” he whispered.

Another fleeting, pleased smile, and “Hell hath no fury,” he murmured. His head dropped back against the pillows, fingers settling back against his chest.

“Go back to sleep, Barnum.”

“So much time lost… will do, though.” He cracked an eye open. “Phillip?”

“Hm?”

“… take tomorrow off and then get back to work.” He closed his eyes.

“Take tomorrow off?” Phillip repeated. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been here two and a half days,” he murmured. “Don’t want you catching cold, too.”

Phillip snorted softly, and was suddenly glad Barnum was too out of it to respond. “Yeah… no, we don’t,” he muttered, and smiled wryly to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> wow I don't know how I got here but here I am. I have so many good feels about this movie's message and these characters ~~and Hugh Jackman god~~ and so many headcanons??? ajhfordkge the one I'm thriving on most is like... how tight-knit they all have to be? (or you would imagine they would be let me have this) like imagine Barnum inviting Phillip over to some formal dinner at their place? meeting his wife and children for the first time? all four of the Barnums going to rehearsal and having a lil picnic together? one (1) Barnum drinking with all of them until they all end up lit and giggly and sprawled over the ring and each other? GOD I love the newfound family trope!!!
> 
> anyway. maybe more tgs fic on the horizon? I desperately need to get my hands on the Target exclusive first and it's all sold out WHEEZES


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